


The Glen: An Unexpected Turn

by Annie D (scaramouche)



Series: The Glen [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Body Transformation, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Established Relationship, M/M, Meg POV, Mpreg, Normalized Animalistic Behavior, Unexpected Pregnancy, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scaramouche/pseuds/Annie%20D
Summary: Meg reflects on life as a wolf in the wild. Meanwhile, Cas and Dean get up to more of their usual nonsense.





	The Glen: An Unexpected Turn

**Author's Note:**

> Other content: Sam/Kevin (secondary pairing), normalized exhibitionism, consent issues due to Castiel’s mental state (this Cas is based season 7’s crazy Cas), description of werewolf sex where one partner is in human form and the other is in wolf form.
> 
> Note: This fic and its predecessor ([The Glen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4626807)) are Dean/Cas-focused spin-offs of [The Zoo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1960236/chapters/4239798), which is a Sam/Kevin fic. 
> 
> Many thanks to the commenters in the previous fic (♥) that helped inspire me to write this one!

Meg thinks it’s hilarious that she’s still alive.

She’s lost and left too many packs to count; so much so that she stopped associating the concept of ‘pack’ with ‘family’ a long time ago. ‘Packs’ are just groups that are meant to be tolerated until the next one comes along.

Which is why it’s so fucking funny that she’s one of those who made it.

All wolves – even housebroken ones like her – are taught early on in life that individual survival depends on the strength of the pack. It certainly _sounds_ logical, but Meg figured out – somewhere between Father ditching her and the first cluster snatching her up – that there’s no way to accurately measure the strength of any pack. What did strength matter, anyway, when leviathan could just snuff out a whole pack whenever they wanted with their tech and their poisons? What’s the use of a strong pack then?

Simply put, there is no logic to survival. It’s down to simple fucking luck, whether it being at the right place at the right time, or with the right wolves at the right time, or being the right _kind_ of wolf at a right time. There’s no planning for it one way or another, and even if there was, Meg has made (though she’d never admit to anyone) some damned stupid mistakes that should’ve killed her twice, three times over.

Yet here she is, in an actual goddamned wildlife reserve, walking through wild trees along the medium perimeter of a pack-controlled glen, and inhaling fresh autumn air the likes of which she hasn’t smelled since she was a pup.

Meg tests the give of a tree stump, and once sure of its sturdiness, steps on it and tilts her head back. Fresh air, a mostly-blue sky (it’s been raining lately), and no sign of leviathan save the tracker on her ear that, while annoying, is a pretty damn decent trade off.

She knows better than to assume any sort of permanency to this, though. This so-called pack may have gotten her here, but it’s still an illogical pack, and there are at least two wolves other than her that would flee to a better one if given the chance. That may even happen within the next season or so – there’s no sense in this _entire_ forest belonging to one pack. Hence, there must be others, dropped by leviathan at far enough distances to not be a threat, but close enough that they’ll eventually meet and trade.

Meg’s kinda looking forward to it, to be honest. Not because she hates this pack (which she doesn’t, if only because no one’s killed anybody) but because it’d drop an actual _choice_ in their laps.

A crinkle of leaves snaps Meg out of her thoughts. “I know you’re there.”

Partially hidden by bushes, Cas is shifted out and flopped on his side, his tongue lolling out. When Meg looks over, Cas blinks his large blue eyes up at her and doesn’t even have the decency to bark.

“Why are you by yourself?” Meg asks. “Where’s Dean?”

Cas’s tail flops, just once. Meg sighs and sits down on the log, stretching her legs out in front of her. A quick whiff confirms that Dean’s not in the immediate vicinity.

“What’s wrong with you?” Meg huffs. “All right, what’s _more_ wrong with you?”

Cas shakes his head, his fur flapping as he does. He’s been quieter than usual lately, which Meg had chalked up to whatever’s been going on between him and Dean, and thus none of her business. Yet here Cas is, _again_ , hiding under the shrubbery like he doesn’t have two dozen nicer spots all over the glen to do his stupid nature appreciation commentary, and it has the base of Meg’s skull throbbing faintly in irritation.

Frankly, it was a relief when Dean finally jumped Cas. That gave Meg one less thing to gnaw on about, and hell knows that this whole goddamned pack was practically designed to stress her out. Okay, maybe not Linda, since she can take care of herself, but everyone else? Pinged that stupid fucking button deep in Meg’s head that none of these stupid wild wolves (Cas not included) could possibly understand.

 _Herd._ Steer. _Shield._

It’s not the same instinct wild wolves have. As far as Meg can tell, wild-bred wolves are driven to protect and ensure the survival of the pack as a whole. But Meg doesn’t give a fuck about packs; _her_ instinct is tied to Father’s old lessons, and those interminable days and nights and months where all she’d known was the steering of lesser creatures, and of driving them into pens and up hills and wherever else the leviathan wanted them to go. (Good dog.)

Meg’s burned most of those old lessons out of her, but she’ll never be a wild wolf, or a _real_ wolf as Cas’s dearly beloved mate likes to say sometimes. For the most part she doesn’t care – fucking wild wolves can have their inconvenient mating runs and moon songs – but the button in her head? She almost wishes she were a full wolf if only so that her teeth wouldn’t ache all the time with the urge to _fucking herd_.

Like Cas, now? Pinging that button hard. He’s quiet and hiding, which probably means he needs to be sent somewhere else so he’ll be less quiet and not hiding, but Meg just wanted to relax by herself for an hour or so before the day’s hunt, was that too much to ask?

“Get up,” Meg says. “I know you heard me. Ugh.”

She steps off the log and crawls under the shrubbery, close enough to grab handfuls of Cas’s fur. Cas doesn’t protest, though this close Meg can sense his discomfort. The discomfort in itself isn’t a surprise, but the fact that Cas is trying to _hide_ it.

“Don’t you have some interesting fact or the other that you want to share?” Meg asks. “Something about the ferns being good for air filtration or something like that?”

Cas blinks slowly.

There’s nothing for it, then. Dean gets irritated whenever she gets too much of her scent on Cas, but whatever, she’s not the one who pined after another wolf for years and waited until it was almost too late to do anything about it. Meg digs her hands into Cas’s fur, running her palms over his shoulder, down the long line of his back and then flat along his side and up his ribs.

Dean, at long last, finally shows up, calling out: “Cas? Cas, you here?”

After one last deep whiff of Cas’s mouth, Meg lifts herself into a visible crouching position. Dean automatically bares his teeth when he sees her, but then nods stiffly and joins them on the floor.

“You lost track of him or something?” Meg asks.

Dean shrugs awkwardly, and sets a hand gently on Cas’s torso. “Cas does what he likes. I thought he was at home but… he don’t like being underground all that much.”

“Aww, you mad he’s not that into the den you spent weeks making for him?”

“Shut up!” Dean snaps. Cas jumps in surprise, and Dean immediately flops on top of Cas in apology, nuzzling the fur near his forearms. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m just worried, and you won’t talk to me and…” He pauses, and turns a beady eye on Meg. “He say anything to you?”

“Nah.” Meg sits back and scratches behind an ear. “Been quiet since I got here.”

“I don’t mean just now, but… lately,” Dean presses. “I know he’s – I know that he’s _Cas_ and barely anyone can get a straight answer out of him a tenth of the time, but… Fuck it, whatever.”

Meg almost feels sorry for Dean. _Almost_ , because Dean is also an asshole who keeps grudges despite being the one who’d killed damn near half of Father’s pack, on top of other very charming things that would make their current pack’s pups’ claws curl, so it’s too bad that they’re all trying to do this _renewal_ and _putting the past behind them_ thing. During the worst of Meg’s handling, she’d wanted to survive if only to outlive the warrior-breed siblings Dean and Sam.

Then the leviathan had to drop her back into the brothers’ pack, and no one died, and now Dean’s actually asking Meg for _advice_.

“He smell different to you?” Meg asks.

Dean looks at Meg, startled. “No, why? He sick?”

There’s the possibility that Meg’s wrong, but she doesn’t think so. Her nose may not be as sensitive as the wild-breeds, but she spent so much time in close quarters with Cas when the leviathan tried to get them to mate, that she knows annoyingly well the nuances of his unnatural fire-metal scent.

Meg says, “Cas is pregnant.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Funny.” He stares at Meg, who only stares back, an eyebrow up. His expression clears. “Not funny.”

“Get Jody,” Meg says. “Or Linda. They’d be able to tell.”

“But that’s… that’s not…” Dean gapes, and is generally useless until Meg clacks her teeth at him. “You sure?”

Meg shrugs. “Would be good to get a second opinion.”

It takes a great deal of whining and cajoling to get Cas to move. Most of it’s done by Dean in soft, gentle tones that has Meg quickly turning away and humming under her breath so she doesn’t have to listen. Meg would rather they bring the others here instead of taking Cas to them, but Dean seems adamant that Cas come back to the pack hub.

“Okay, thank you,” Dean whispers when Cas finally gets to his feet. Cas yips, clearly unhappy, but starts moving when Dean nudges him. Dean shifts out to walk at Cas’s side, with Dean’s brown tail curling over Cas’s black one as they go.

Meg trails after them, and watches the gait of Cas’s legs carefully.

 

* * *

 

 

The day’s hunt is postponed, and most of the pack are gathered in the story pit.

All the other wolves are understandably confused and curious to be gathered together, and get no less confused and curious when Dean asks the ladies to thoroughly scent Cas out. Cas himself seems to have no opinion of his own on the matter, and stays four-legged and flopped out on the ground while Linda, Jody and Charlie gather around him. Dean – Meg notices to her amusement – stays close by Cas’s side as they do it, an arm curved securely around Cas’s back.

Charlie leans back first, making a face. “That can’t be right.”

“He’s quickened,” Linda says with a nod. “I’ve been in too many breeding pens to not know that water smell.”

“But how? He doesn’t have the right parts.” Kevin waves a hand in Cas’s direction. “I mean, _I_ can’t get pregnant. I—” He turns to Sam sharply. “I can’t, can I?”

“No, you definitely can’t,” Sam says. “Kevin, relax, I swear I can’t get you pregnant. Or vice versa.”

Kevin turns back to Cas. “But then…”

Meg bites her lip. Her brain’s helpfully supplied a vibrant memory from last spring, when the rest of the pack was dealing with the sweltering fun of mating season. Meg doesn’t get those urges – thank _fuck_ – but it does make her cranky, so she puts her energy into patrolling the glen and staying out of everyone else’s way.

The thing is, this pack is mostly polite about these matters. No one’s tried to mess with Meg, those who arrange mutually beneficial rub-offs are mature about it, and one of its two mated pairs restricts their rolling around to the privacy of their den (score one for Sam and Kevin). But Cas and Dean?

Maybe it’s Cas’s easy distractibility and dislike of being underground, or that Dean has how many years of frustration to work off. Whatever it is, the end result is that they sometimes fuck outdoors. Not in the pack hub, because they know better, but out in the trees, or on the edge of the northern meadow, or even in the old ruins near the stream. Most of the time Meg doesn’t even mind (though she’d never tell them that) because hey, a wolf’s got to do what a wolf’s got to do, but the problem is that Cas tends to like the spots that _Meg_ likes, which means that she could wander off to her favorite tree and underneath there’d be Dean and Cas going at it, and Meg would be left seething that she doesn’t have a dick to piss on everything and get their stink out.

Anyway. During the last mating season, Meg was out on patrol and unsurprised when she stumbled upon Dean and Cas being predictable. She’d started to turn away to make a greater circle around them, but then she’d paused, suddenly struck by the sounds Cas was making.

Cas was on the ground, two-legged and face-down. Dean had mounted Cas from behind, which was all well and good, except that Dean was in his four-legged form, and thus… larger. Meg remembers how hard she’d cringed, because it was bad enough having to take a dick through that orifice, but having to take it like _that_? Even more bizarrely, Cas was clearly enjoying it, with all his whining and scratching the ground and shoving his ass back onto Dean’s unnecessarily huge cock. It was as though Cas was in mating heat, like all the other ladies of their pack, but that made no sense because Cas didn’t have anything to be in heat _for_.

Well, here it is, and here they are. How many months post-mating season and Cas is belly-swollen.

“Cas,” Sam says carefully, “is a lab wolf.”

“I still don’t know what that means,” Krissy says. “He was made? How can a wolf be made?”

“Leviathan made the enclave and other habitats,” Jody points out. “They made trees, streams, grass – living homes. Hell, they cleaned this forest for us somehow. They have ways.”

“But they made Cas to be strong,” Dean says. “Cas and his kind, the lightning wolves, they were made to control us.”

Meg sighs, earning a sharp glare from Dean. “Strength is only one of it. Yes, they were supposed to control us, but they were mainly designed to be _adaptable_ , be it to any pack, any environment, any stressful situation. And here we are, a sterile pack that’s but one generation away from extinction, until…” She gestures at Cas with a flourish.

“That’s so weird,” Charlie says. “But not the weirdest thing, I must admit.”

“The leviathan did this,” Linda says.

“No,” Dean says quietly. “Cas is what he’s always been. _I_ did this. I changed him.”

That’s annoying. Luckily Meg is saved from having to say something when Sam immediately chimes in, “You couldn’t have known, Dean. None of us have seen anything like this happening.”

“But it is happening, and changes need to be made,” Jody says. “We need to change the way we hunt. We need to search for herbs, and start digging a birthing den.”

“Jody—” Dean starts.

“Dean,” Jody says firmly. “Surprise or not, there’s a pup on the way, and we need to prepare for that. Do _you_ know what’s supposed to be done? No? Then care for your mate. We’ll take care of the rest.”

Meg watches the way Dean’s eyes twitch and his hands clench. Then she looks down to where Cas still hasn’t moved, his eyes almost glazed over.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s hard to know how far along Cas is, but Linda estimates that he’s at least three moons in, giving them approximately three more moons to go. Linda’s even offended that they’d not noticed his condition before, but Cas’s fire scent makes him hard to read on a good day, and not to mention that his four-leg shape is ridiculously huge and thus easy to hide a belly-swell.

The belly-swell itself is cause for rejuvenation in the pack. Jody becomes even bossier than normal, which sets off a chain reaction of irritation among various wolves even as they work together to get the glen ready for a new arrival.

Meg stays out of it, for the most part. She knows as much about birthing as Dean does, which means not a hell of a lot, plus Sam starts giving her the wary side-eye like the alpha he could’ve been, as though Meg’s a threat to his family line. Truth be told, Meg doesn’t care about the hullaballoo surrounding the pup.

If anything, it’s _Cas_ who’s getting on Meg’s nerves, because even after his pregnancy is revealed to all, he’s persistent in staying shifted out.

After Cas was damaged by the leviathan tech, this was kind of his thing. Any time he got upset or scared, he’d shift out like some kind of defense mechanism, as though being four-legged helped him retreat even deeper into that fractured mind of his. Now normally Meg wouldn’t care either way, because Cas will always be a weirdo doing his own weird thing, but it’s made Dean antsy and even more annoying than usual.

In the days after learning he’s going to be a father, Dean has retreated into his own brand of weirdness, cajoling and pleading and singing to Cas in the hopes of getting his mate to talk to him. But it’s still a no go – Cas remains distant, and Dean’s gotten it into his head that he’s fucked Cas up even more.

Maybe he has. Who knows? It’s a strange world they’re living in.

Regardless, none of this is helping Meg’s blood pressure.

After yet another day of the rest of the pack being hard at work and Dean sitting on a rock looking like the leviathan just ate his whole family, Meg’s had enough. She puts down the flint she’d been working on and, ignoring Aaron’s grumble of irritation, walks away from the work set in search of Castiel.

It’s easy enough to track him down. He’s on a small rise overlooking the hub, slinked out on the ground and staring at nothing in particular. Meg looks around – Kevin is on watch up a tree, though far away enough to not be a bother.

“Hey.” Meg crouches down and pokes one of Cas’s paws. “Metal wolf.”

Cas says nothing. His fur’s really shiny – he’s been eating well, if nothing else, and has had plenty of grooming attention from the pack – but his eyes are crusty and unfocused.

Meg settles on the ground, making herself comfortable. She pulls a long strand of grass and folds it a few times before setting it between her teeth. “You know when Dean started tupping you? At first I wasn’t sure if you even understood what was happening. Then one day, you were talking about flowers or something, and suddenly you said that Dean would get bored of you. Remember that? Well, didn’t happen, now did it? You’re bonded and going to start a litter together.”

Cas’s eyes swivel, focusing on Meg.

“I didn’t tell him what you said, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Meg rolls her shoulders. “This fucking wildlife reserve and lack of rules – I dig it, but it makes my teeth ache. I thought the leviathan were morons to let us run around out here, but maybe they thought that something like this would happen. It’d still be taking a chance, though, right? And chances are for chumps. You can’t put your stock in that, ‘cause it’d get you killed. But that’s the real gist of what we’re learning here, isn’t it? Living. Finding new ways of living, ‘cause the old ways are long gone.”

Cas’s lips pulls back from his teeth, and then his face starts to slide.

“You idiot, don’t shift!” Meg snarls. “Wait – just wait, dammit. Dean! Dean!”

Two-legged, the smell of Cas’s condition is still masked by his fire scent, but the slight swell in his belly is clearly visible. He crawls on the ground a little, his eyes wild and unfocused, until Meg claps her hands, making him go still.

“Survival of the pack,” Cas says hoarsely.

Dean comes running, and Meg delicately scoots backwards so that Dean can do his thing, i.e. flopping on the ground and taking Cas into his arms like a wolf pile gone wrong and frantic.

“Cas, I’m here,” Dean says. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas tilts his head back to look up at Dean, as though surprised to see him. “Cross-breeding failed, save for a few specific cases that could not be replicated, and even then it was meant to be between wolves and their domesticated kin, and not for – for the other…”

“Oh damn it,” Dean says, trembling. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry I did this to you—”

Meg tunes out a little, embarrassed for their sakes. Cas goes quiet again, Dean rocks him back and forth, there’s some crying involved etc. Meg turns away, and waves at Charlie and Sam, who are hovering in the background worriedly.

“Dean,” Cas says, which finally stops Dean’s babbling. Meg turns back curiously, and just in time to watch Cas ask: “What if it’s like me?”

“Then I’d love it, just as I love you,” Dean says fiercely.

Cas stares at Dean for a long time. Then he nods and says, “It’s similar to shifting, but inward, and a tad more complex. We change our bodies all the time, so there are mechanisms already in place, albeit limited to the outer, and upon conscious triggers of the brain. You can extrapolate from that, considering all available info…”

Dean sobs loudly, and presses his face to Cas’s neck in relief. “I hear you, Cas. I’m here, I’ll take care of you.”

Meg watches them for a few more seconds to confirm that that’s enough. Cas is talking again, Dean has his in, and the rest of the pack can do all the other soft things that Meg has zero skills with. Satisfied, Meg smugly rolls over, shifting onto four paws as she does, and trots away.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the pregnancy doesn’t go on without its hitches.

Cas has to be wrangled _constantly_ because he keeps wandering off, especially in the final moon. Dean stops hunting and patrolling so to stay by Cas’s side, which means that chores have to be reassigned. Then there’s the birthing den, which causes arguments between the elder ladies and culminates in an actual fight (which is hilarious), though the den itself is completed late into Cas’s final moon.

But at last! One fine morning, Cas’s body – or the pup in it – decides that it’s had enough, and Cas goes into labor.

It’s a ruckus. On one hand, it’s stupid as hell because it’s just a fucking _birth_ ; wolves have been doing this for centuries, and Cas is the most physically hardy of all the wolves here (brain damage notwithstanding). But on the other hand, who the hell knows how a male lightning wolf is supposed to give birth, right? There’s no instinct for that.

Meg stays out of it, though. While the others are making a merry ‘ol din inside the birthing den, she stays calm and watchful outside, standing guard with Sam and Kevin.

It’s _because_ Meg’s calm that she notices the insects approaching. There’s two of them: tiny metal things on fake wings, leviathan-made. She perks up and, just for shits ‘n giggles, kicks Sam to get his attention.

Sam, predictably, goes on high alert. Teeth on display, haunches up, fur on end, and he even tries to leap up to catch the damned things.

Meg barks a laugh, and ignores the way Kevin growls at her disapprovingly.

Leviathan are unpredictable and oftentimes cruel, but they’re not going to take the new pup away. They’re curious, because who wouldn’t be curious about Dean and Cas’s goddamned miracle baby? This is the pack that has, yet again, shoved logic on its ass, and Meg finds the idea of the leviathan trying to analyze and replicate Cas’s fecundity absolutely fucking _priceless._

Sam makes another warning roar, and the two flying cameras back off. Which is a pity, because they just miss the main event.

Meg flares her nostrils, scenting a new wolf in their midst. She turns to look into the birthing den, and her second eyes make out Cas in the dark, four-legged and lying on his side, panting heavily. Jody is crouched in front of him, and offers the small bundle in her arms, but Cas shrinks back, fearful. Dean, who’s tucked against Cas’s back, yips faintly in encouragement, and Cas reluctantly but carefully presses his muzzle into the bundle, scenting their pup.

It’s done, then. Meg zones out for a bit, wondering if perhaps this will make it clear that this pack is really kinda large, and that they’ll have to expand their territory and find the other wolves that must be out there.

Suddenly Jody’s right there in Meg’s face, saying, “Do you want to hold her?”

Yeah, okay, pack bonding, whatever. Meg shifts in and takes the little runt into her arms.

A girl, red-faced and wrinkly, eyes scrunched shut. Baby wolf, helpless, a fresh scent that is at once new and familiar. Theirs. _Theirs._

Herd. Steer. Shield.

It’s the same urge of her wolf-blood, but focused and serene. Meg is aware with full clarity that she’d kill for this pup. She’d kill leviathan, wendigo, kitsune – hell, she’d kill other wolves. She’d tear throats and eat hearts to protect this girl, who must ( _will_ ) grow up strong and vicious and wilder than any single one of them. This girl will not know walls the way they do – she will not even understand what walls _are_.

Meg will be right here to see all of this happen. She knows this right down in her bones, in a strange, new sense of contentment.

“Shit,” Meg says.

“Okay, you had your turn,” Kevin says. “Give her here.”

“No,” Meg says.

“Come on,” Kevin says. “I’m her uncle. What? I _am_.”

“Meg,” Linda says firmly. “Do you have milk? No? Then give her the hell here.”

Grumbling, Meg hands the pup over, though she stays close while Linda sets the girl at her swollen breast. Little face, little mouth, little hungry teeth. The pup latches onto Linda’s nipple firmly, and Meg cackles at Linda’s hiss of surprise.

“Strong girl,” Meg says approvingly. “Good.”

They crouch there together around Linda and their new little wolf. Meg and Sam and Kevin and all the rest of them shoulder to shoulder, focused and satisfied.


End file.
